Page 25 of Forget Me Not

My eyes are fixed to the inside of the desk, that single sentence scratched into the old, worn wood.

Then I reach in my hand and rub my finger against it as if the motion itself will buff away all my questions and expose the answers hidden beneath.

The etching is weathered, soft like hide, and even though I don’t yet know what it means, it still feels like I’ve taken the smallest step forward, so I stare until the words are branded into my brain.

Lily was here.

It’s morning now, another six A.M., muted pastels leaking into the sky as the cabin starts to grow warm in the sun. I’m running on only a few hours of sleep so I tilt my mug back and drain the rest of my extra-strong coffee. The much-needed caffeine making me shake.

I slide the drawer shut and push my chair back, shuffling over to the kitchen as I stare through the window.

My senses blunted like my brain is stuffed full of gauze.

Once again, I had stayed up too late reading, and although Marcia’s diary is full, every single page filled with her words, I had made a sizable dent, making my way through almost two months.

I could practically feel her nerves bleeding out of the ink, smelled the whispers of smoke still trapped in her lungs after she got home from that first day at the Farm.

Imagined her crawling into bed with her diary in her lap, blue pen racing across every page as her mind stayed stuck on Mitchell and the others still out in that field; a bonfire burning hot between them and the sound of crickets as the sun set.

I want you to think of this as your home now, too.

I place my mug into the sink before rubbing my eyes with the heels of my hands, trying in vain to wake myself up.

Then I hear a low growl and look down slowly, recognizing the hollow snarl of my stomach.

I never ate dinner last night, I’ve hardly eaten anything in almost a day, so I open the fridge and grab a few eggs, breaking their shells on the edge of the counter and scrambling them in a small skillet on the stove.

I pour my breakfast onto a plate, steam twisting in the air as I pick at the pile.

I take a small bite, chewing slowly. My gaze trained on my laptop on the other side of the room as Marcia’s memories play out like a movie in my mind.

There’s something that’s been nagging at me, some strange sensation ducked just beneath the surface ever since I found that diary pushed into the vent, imagined Natalie’s voice narrating the events on the page.

Discovered that first article about Marcia going missing—the open window, the lost bag—all these little details between her and my sister that seem to be so much the same.

I walk to the desk and tap at my laptop, clicking into my search history and finding the article I first showed Ryan, the one about Natalie from back at the bar.

BOYFRIEND ARRESTED FOR MURDER OF MISSING GIRL

Then I read it again, more carefully this time.

An arrest has been made in the disappearance of Natalie Campbell, the eighteen-year-old girl who went missing from her bedroom on the evening of August 24, 2002. The suspect in question is Jeffrey Slater, a twenty-eight-year-old Claxton local who has been known to police for quite some time.

I take in the mug shot of Jeffrey now, a sting of sweat prickling under my arms. Then I clear my throat, force myself to keep going.

Detective Eric DiNello, the lead investigator in charge of the Campbell case, reports that eyewitness testimony, as well as a search of Slater’s car, is what ultimately led to his swift arrest mere days after Natalie was reported missing by her mother.

“Jeffrey Slater is nothing more than a petty criminal who unfortunately graduated to taking a life,” DiNello said during a recent press conference. “He has been in our system for years, charges ranging from drug possession and distribution to supplying alcohol to minors.”

Although Campbell’s body has yet to be found, several of her personal effects, including an article of clothing soaked in her blood, were discovered in Slater’s possession, leading investigators to seek a murder charge.

I chew on the inside of my cheek, that niggling feeling still just out of reach until a tapping erupts from the other side of the room and I twist around in the direction of the sound.

There’s a face peering in through my window, the fogged-up glass blurry with dew, but I can tell it’s Liam, a self-conscious smile snaked across his lips as he pushes his finger into the pane.

Are you ready? he mouths.

I glance back at the clock on the stove.

It’s starting to get late, the heat of the day rising fast, and despite how badly I want to keep going, all these unanswered questions continuing to climb, I know I’m only here because I was hired to work, so I reluctantly slap my laptop shut, forcing a smile as I make my way to the yard.

“Why New York?”

I look up, the sudden question cutting through the quiet.

“What do you mean?” I respond, glancing back down at my hands, the tips of my fingers tugging at the base of a grape. Liam and I picking in such a slow, silent rhythm, I almost forgot he was even here.

“It’s just a big change from Claxton,” he says. “There must be a reason you moved out there.”

“Work, I guess,” I say, feeling my nails plunge into something wet, the liquid insides of putrid fruit. Then I pull my hand back, taking in the leaves speckled with rot as Mitchell’s voice worms its way into my mind.

If you neglect the crop, it’ll die on the vine.

“You guess?” he repeats, turning to face me.

“I mean, I guess I could have gone anywhere,” I say, wiping my fingers against my jeans before glancing up at the sky.

I’m not sure what time it is, how long I’ve been ruminating on all these things that I’ve learned, though I would guess it’s early afternoon, the midday sun still high up above.

That, and I can feel the damp of my shirt stuck to my back, the slow dribble of sweat as it drips down my neck.

“I just needed to go somewhere different. The city felt like a good place to start fresh.”

Liam falls silent, no sounds between us but the rustling of leaves.

“I had never even been out of the state until I graduated high school,” I continue, going back to the vines and continuing to pick. “Can you imagine? Spending your entire life in one place? I honestly can’t think of anything worse.”

He stays quiet and I turn toward him now, the back of his neck red from the sun.

“Have you ever been?”

“New York?” he asks, his back still toward me. “No, can’t say that I have.”

“Never?” I ask, the word coming out harsh.

“I’ve never been up north.”

“Wow,” I say, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand before resting my wrists on the top of my hips. “Where’s the farthest you’ve been?”

He twists around, a shy smile as he spreads his arms wide.

“Shit,” I say, my stomach sinking as I think about what I just said, the condescension of my earlier words. I should have known better, the urban bubble I’ve called home for the last fifteen years making me forget where, exactly, I am. “Liam, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” he says, laughing. “Really, don’t sweat it.”

“It’s a great place,” I offer, trying to backpedal, though there’s been a tangible shift in the air, a tension I hadn’t felt before. “Pretty much everyone I know has never left here, either. My mom, my—”

I stop, the word sister hanging limp from my lips, and I can’t believe I almost said that out loud. Like Natalie actually had a choice in the matter; like her life wasn’t cut short in the very place it began.

Liam is quiet, eyebrows lifting as he waits for me to continue.

“My dad,” I say, averting my eyes. “My point is, there’s no shame in staying put if you’re happy. The small-town life just wasn’t for me.”

We go back to picking, a heavy silence between us that feels awkward and strained.

“What were you doing before you started at Galloway?” I ask, trying to revive the conversation. Then I take a few steps forward, searching his expression for any lingering offense. “Did you always know you wanted to—”

My brain stops mid-thought as a scream erupts from my throat, the sudden sensation searing through my body leaving me blinded by white-hot pain.

“Fuck!” I yell, watching as Liam whips around fast, big, blue eyes stretched wide in surprise. Then I look down just in time to catch a glimpse of a golden-brown body slithering into the brush, the flick of a tail before it melts into the shade. “I think—I think I just—”

“That looked like a copperhead,” he interrupts, unstrapping his bucket as he makes his way toward me.

I remember, too late, what he warned me of earlier—all the creatures that like to hide from the sun—and I glance down at my ankle, to the place I just felt a sharp bite as two pinprick punctures start to seep blood.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Just try to relax.”

“Relax?” I ask, the skin on my leg already starting to burn. “How am I supposed to relax? I just got bit by a snake .”

“Because the faster your heart beats, the faster the venom will spread.”

I drop down to the dirt, extending my leg straight out in front as I will my body to somehow stay calm.

“That was a little one,” he says, kneeling by my side as he inspects the wound. “Plus, copperhead bites are rarely fatal.”

“Very reassuring,” I say, wincing as he grabs my leg in his hands.

“Thought I heard a scream.”

We twist to the side, to the sound of a new voice cutting through the quiet, and I watch as Mitchell makes his way over before coming to a stop just above.

“Snakebite,” he adds, hands on his hips as he assesses the scene.

“I should probably get to a hospital,” I say, looking back at my ankle as the skin starts to swell. “Is there even one on the island?”

“It’s about an hour away, but that won’t be necessary,” Mitchell says as he cranes his neck. “We’ve got everything we need right here.”

I turn toward him, not sure if he’s kidding.

“Of course, I’d be happy to take you, but antivenom is expensive. You have insurance?”

My heart sinks as I think about how I lost my coverage right after I quit. How I kept telling myself I’d get it soon, later. Maybe once I sold a few stories. My lack of a paycheck making it impossible to stomach the monthly cost.

“No,” I say at last. “I don’t.”

“Uninsured, you’re looking at ten grand a vial. Minimum. Plus, they’ll make you stay overnight, maybe multiple nights. That, and lab work. Pain medication.”

I close my eyes and tip my head back, feeling the familiar panic flare up.

“Or I can treat you right here, for free.”

I open them again, the searing heat starting to sneak up my leg as I stare at this stranger standing before me, my mind winding around all the unusual things that I’ve learned as I try to decide if I should trust him.

As I wonder if I even have a choice.